


and all the stars aligned

by reveries_passions



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Here we go, I made myself sad with this, M/M, One Shot, Smut, but briefly - Freeform, everybody send me hate, everyones fuckin crying, harry cries, idk what to tag this, k bye, louis cries, stupid fluffy short fic thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 10:49:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12910359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reveries_passions/pseuds/reveries_passions
Summary: 'He fumbles on the floor for the hoodie, tugs in towards him, and buries his face in the cotton. It still smells like Harry. With his arms wrapped around it, he can pretend he’s not alone.'or, harry and louis will always make it out alive (with the help of an embroidered hoodie, hotel rendezvous, and niall).





	and all the stars aligned

 

Sometimes Louis wishes things were different. 

He can’t say he hates his life, not at all. He has such a fucking awesome job, and he has the greatest, most talented boyfriend in the world, and they have a love for each other he’s pretty sure is  _ unreal.  _ Like, he would steal a spaceship and literally find some way to bring back the moon for Harry. And Harry would probably blush and get all stuttery, the way he normally does when he’s complimented. 

The truth is, when they’re apart, they can’t really think about it too much. 

It hurts. A lot. But they’ve made it through the worst times, and now it’s for a good cause anyway. Harry’s  _ touring _ . And he’s doing fucking amazing, is the thing. Louis’ never seen him this happy. 

Maybe that’s why it hurts so bad. Because Louis’ stuck in London or LA half the time, negotiating for rights he should already have, and Harry is off seeing the world and doing what he loves and enjoying himself.  _ Without Louis.  _

Of course, there’s the single. That takes up a considerable amount of his time, and he’s not complaining because the fans are amazing. They’ve done so much for him, and he’s getting so many EMA votes already, and it’s all because of them, and he just wishes he could come out. That’s probably the biggest thing that has him in a hole right now. Harry’s off waving round rainbow flags every night and Louis’ off somewhere else, watching from the sidelines. 

The comments on Twitter are always positive. Sometimes he’ll see a comment saying ‘ _ I’m so excited for when Louis tours so we’ll be able to bring all our rainbows for him, too. _ ’ And Harry phones him every night, and sometimes Louis will get teary because he wants to tell everyone they’re in love so fucking bad. He wants the whole world to know. But he’s stuck. He’s really stuck and there’s nothing he can do. 

He always pretends he’s not crying when he cries; but Harry knows him well enough to soothe him and tell him to just take a breath when his voice starts cracking. He’s really glad they have each other if nothing else. It just hurts.

His FOMO has reached its greatest peak by the time Harry hits his Boston show. The only person he’s really allowed to follow on Instagram is Lou, and she’s always posting these throwbacks; adjusting Harry’s tie, fixing his hair, and clucking over him. All the things Louis should be doing. 

They plan to meet in three days when Harry has an opportunity to sneak away to LA. Just for a night. It doesn’t seem like a long time, but Louis knows it’s enough. 

Their phone calls kind of piss everyone off, not because they’re annoying, but because their painfully sappy and embarrassing. They still act like teenagers, even after all this time. Well. Louis forgets a lot that they’re still young and only in their twenties. He thinks they both feel so much older. 

The day before they meet up, for the first time in a few weeks, they spend forty minutes talking before they fall asleep. 

“Hey, baby,” Louis says, just like he always does. 

“Hi, love,” Harry replies. And they both breathe a little bit because it’s been a long day. 

“How are things, sweetheart? Okay?”

“Yeah.” His voice is breathy, the way it is when he’s exhausted and upset. Louis’ not entirely sure why. “I’m okay.” Unconvincing.

“Wanna talk about it?” 

“Um.” Harry laughs a little. “I’m not sure, to be honest, babe. I’m tired.” 

“Yeah,” Louis says, then doesn’t know how to continue, and says ‘yeah’ again. 

“How was the meeting?” 

Louis lets his eyes close, deflates a little into the hotel duvet. It’s late, and quiet, and maybe if they were feeling better they’d jerk off together or something. But, well, it’s not like they don’t already do it whenever they have the opportunity. 

“Okay. Yeah, I mean, it was good. The promo’s going okay I guess, as well as expected.” This doesn’t feel right. It’s far too formal and they need to see each other. 

“I’m proud of you, love.” 

“I’m proud of you, baby. Keep seeing all these videos of you onstage. You look gorgeous.”

He hears the smile in Harry’s voice. “Ha. Uh. Thanks, Lou, um.” It’s the stuttery thing, the sheepish embarrassment. He’s probably biting his lip. “I love you. I want to see you. Miss you a lot.”

“I miss you so much,” Louis sighs. “Tomorrow, yeah? I’m gonna kiss you tomorrow.” 

Harry’s smile gets bigger. He can’t see it, but he knows it’s there.

“I’m gonna kiss you,” he echoes; and it’s so achingly sweet it makes Louis’ heart hurt, and his eyes wet. “I’m not gonna stop kissing you, you know. I miss you so fucking bad. Miss your lips.”

“Tomorrow,” Louis says, more so to himself than anyone else. “I’m seeing my baby tomorrow. Love you so much, darling.” 

There’s really not much more that needs to be said. 

 

~

 

The plane lands in the evening, delayed.

So, Louis’ a little bitter to begin with. They were supposed to see each other this morning. Harry needs to fly back out the next morning. They don’t have very long to fawn over each other and he feels like there’s a lot of catching up to do. 

Harry texts him when he’s in the car on the way to the hotel. It feels agonizingly slow. He’s been waiting all day, and now the only thing separating them is traffic; and he wants to kiss his baby, and snuggle, and be gross and sappy where no one else can see them. 

He’s been obsessing over his appearance for hours now. They don’t even plan on  _ going  _ anywhere; they’re gonna cuddle and order room service. But he’s wearing the joggers Harry likes that he’s told makes his ass look great, and he’s wearing a t-shirt that falls low on his collarbones, and he’s fluffed up his fringe, and Harry’s probably gonna come in wearing skinny jeans and some floral Gucci sweater looking like some fucking model. Suddenly he feels underdressed.

There’s a knock on the door at 7pm. Louis practically trips over his own feet to get there, fixing his hair quickly and smoothing his shirt, and breathing away the weird nerves once before opening it. 

Harry’s standing there. He probably looks ten times as beautiful as Louis imagined him in the first place; hair floppy and perfect and...he’s wearing blue jeans. Fucking hell, he’s wearing blue jeans, and  _ Vans,  _ and that goddamn Britney Spears shirt. Louis loves him so fucking much. 

Harry has him in a hug before he can do anything. The duffel bag he’s been holding is dropped on the floor and they squeeze each other so tight it’s like they’re never going to be able to let go. 

“Baby,” Louis breathes into his neck. He smells nice. That same shampoo, the nice cologne. He can’t remember what kind. 

“I missed you love,” Harry says, voice muffled by Louis’ cheek. And they stay like that for a while until Harry pushes the door closed with his foot, and Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s neck, and they press their lips together. 

They’re about to fall over, and it’s more teeth than tongue, but Harry tastes like mint chewing gum, and white wine, and something else, and he’s so clumsy on his feet, but sure with his mouth, and they stumble back towards the bed, falling on top of each other and laughing. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Louis tells him happily. And the way Harry looks at him then, huge smile and sparkling eyes and rabbit teeth, is so fucking worth all the hurt. 

They don’t do much. Harry kicks his shoes off when they get too uncomfortable and they fall to the floor heavily. They end up wrapped around each other; Louis’ head in the crook of Harry’s elbow, Harry’s arm around his back, Louis’ fingers in his boy’s hair, legs all tangled together. Not an inch of space between them. 

“How was the flight?” Louis asks after a while. They should probably order dinner before the kitchen closes for the night. 

Harry hums, kisses the top of his head. “Not bad. A few people wanted pictures. Asked where I was going. I wanted to tell them I was going to see the love of my life but. You know.”

“Mm.” They nestle deeper into each other. It’s quiet, and nice, and soft, and Louis never wants to move. He wants to stay here forever, intertwined with the boy he’s loved for so long now. 

The food they order arrives in half an hour or so; they don’t pay much mind to the fact neither of them are very hungry. They spend their time feeding each other cheese and crackers, and strawberries, and fill their mouths with fizzy champagne, and they’re both just so  _ giggly _ . 

Harry gets this glow when he’s a little buzzed. His cheeks get this natural pink tint and his hairline is a little damp because they’re so warm. They’d discarded their shirts a while ago, so their chests are bare and they sit so close their shoulders and elbows bump when they move. 

“I love you,” Louis keeps on saying, even when they’re talking about random, stupid things, like Liam’s chains, or Niall’s album, or Nick’s dog. “I love you so much.” 

“I love you more,” Harry always answers, folding their fingers together. 

“I love you most,” Louis concludes every time. 

So yes. He never wants to leave. 

 

~

 

Harry has to leave. And Louis tries not to let the tears fall, but they do anyway. 

“Fuck, Lou,” Harry says, eyebrows coming together. Louis is wrapped in a tight embrace. “Just a couple weeks, yeah? I’ll be in London, we’ll see each other then.”

“I know, I know, just... _ fuck _ , you’re so talented and amazing when you’re off touring, and I’m stuck here and I fucking hate it, you know? You’re the star out of all of us, yeah, you’re the perfect rockstar. Everybody loves you.” 

He knows it stings. He watches the hurt on Harry’s face, and he feels a twinge of remorse curl in his gut because he knows how much Harry hates being the ‘star,’ the womanizer, the ladies’ man. Louis’ just bad. He feels awful. 

“Just. I just want you with me. Like, always.”

“I know.” Harry pulls his lip into his mouth, furrows his brows. “Trust me.” 

He’s a terrible person. “I’m sorry, H, I really am--” 

“Hang on.” Harry stalks over to the side of the bed his duffel is on, and he rifles through it a little bit before tugging out a bulky hoodie; plain black, like the million and one other black hoodies they own together. He takes a step back, shakes it out a bit, and hands it to Louis. 

“It’s exclusive,” Harry explains softly. “Um. I’ve worn it like five times. You can keep it.” 

There doesn’t look to be anything remarkable about it until Louis catches sight of the pink embroidery over the chest. 

“You’re so lovely,” he murmurs, holding the ‘Harry’ hoodie up to his face. Yep. Smells like him. Soft like him. “I’m sorry. The fans are amazing, you know, I’m just making everything worse than it is.”

“You’re not. Really, I know it’s a lot harder for you than it is for me.”

“You don’t have to say that, babe,” Louis says tiredly. “We’ll talk, yeah? You have to go. I’m sorry. I’d hate for you to miss your flight because I’m a selfish arsehole.” 

“You’re not. I love you,” Harry says, “More than anything. Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Call me at the airport so I know you’re safe. Be careful. I love you.” 

There’s one more deep kiss before Harry leaves. Louis doesn’t quite know when the next time will be.

They leave it at that. It would hurt too much otherwise.

 

~

 

He’ll never admit it, but the hoodie is more comfort than he anticipates. 

Of course he can’t wear it out, but he’ll get home from a day of meetings and press and exhausting questions about girlfriend this, girlfriend that, and pull it on. And even though it leaves an ache in his chest because it’s going to be another while until he sees Harry, it helps him remember that he’s not in this alone. 

The phone calls always end up with one of them crying. Normally it’s Louis, because he’s always being put through shit, and more shit. But sometimes Harry will call and he’ll be on the edge of a panic attack because it’s so hard being away from the other, and even though he’d never say anything about it, he still gets nervous before shows; and Louis will listen to the sound of his gasps turning into pants, and his pants turning into breaths. 

It’s hard. Louis wants the band back together so they can just do everything by each other’s sides.

It’s worth it though. Worth it seeing all the girls who struggle with themselves, seeing all the people they help. Twitter can be an awful place, or the best therapy, and lately it’s been therapy. 

Niall calls him often too. Just a regular check-in, really; how are things, congrats on the single doing so well (he says this every time), and asks with great concern if he’s getting enough sleep and eating well and staying hydrated. It would be sweet if it wasn’t so sad. He always ends by saying he’s always there to talk, and Louis doesn’t deserve him. Doesn’t deserve any of them, really. 

It makes him realize how lucky he is, which makes his writing sessions more successful and his recording sessions smoother. He’s getting excited about the album, and the fans are excited about the album all the time. Harry is always his number one fan, FaceTiming him every time he gets a demo of a new song, and recording his reaction so Louis can always watch it back when he’s feeling down. 

Things are good. 

They see each other a little later than expected, but it’s not too bad. Louis wears the hoodie underneath a big jacket, which makes him too warm and smothered, but he doesn’t really care. Harry’s staying at a hotel for two nights while he performs, and there aren’t fans waiting outside when he walks in, so he takes that as a good thing; and doesn’t mind the bodyguard’s lingering behind him as he steps up to the front desk. 

“Louis Tomlinson, here to see Harry Styles.” 

The hotel staff have obviously been notified of his arrival based on the quickly averted eyes and ducked heads. He walks up to the room alone, and only has to knock on the door twice before it’s being thrown open. 

“Hey, baby,” he says, smiling, when a shirtless Harry pulls him into the room and kisses him hard. 

“Missed you,” Harry gasps when he pauses to take a breath. “Missed…” He stops to give him a kiss. “You…” Another kiss. “A lot.” 

“Missed you so much, baby,” Louis murmurs into the boy’s mouth. “Jesus, couldn’t wait, could you?” 

Harry nuzzles his face into Louis’ neck, pressing open mouthed kisses and sucking lovebites into the skin. The door is closed but they’re still leaning against the wall by the closet, and Louis hasn’t even put down his bag yet. 

“It’s so hard being away from you,” Harry groans. “Like, literally. So hard.” 

“H,” Louis laughs. “Okay. To bed.”

He’s practically carrying Harry at this point; the boy’s legs are like jelly, and Louis vaguely wonders how long he’s been turned on for. He lets out a soft sigh when he’s laid back on the bed and Louis kicks his shoes off his feet and onto the floor, slides his coat off.

“I want you,” Harry whines, high pitched in the back of his throat. His eyes fall on the black hoodie. “Been waiting so long, Lou.”

“Relax, babe.” Louis straddles his hips and runs his finger through Harry’s hair, massages his scalp until the desperate look fades away, and he’s left contented and soft. “We’ve got two days together, yeah? No rush.” 

“Mm.” Harry’s eyes are closed when Louis leans down and licks into his mouth; the sunlight coming into the room from the big window makes him look like a painting. 

“D’you put on makeup today?” he mumbles into Harry’s mouth. The boy gives a fucked out smile. 

“How’d you know?” 

“I’m being blinded by your highlight and you’ve got pink lipstick on my cheek,” he says sweetly, shifting himself so his thigh lands right in between Harry’s legs. The breath catches in his throat. “What do you want, baby?”

“You Lou, babe, please.” He grinds his hips up, and it’s so perfect, and Louis’ missed him so much. “I need it.” 

“What, baby, you’ll have to be a little more specific.” He’s such a tease and Harry tells him all the time; he’s got two days and he wants to spend the first one watching his boyfriend fall apart underneath him. 

“Need you in me please,” Harry lulls, voice dripping like honey and thick with want. 

And,  _ god _ , how he’s missed this. Not even the mind blowing sex, just the feeling of being together, being so close, with nobody to tell them not to do whatever they want. It’s just so easy to fall into it; it must be the fact they’re so in love. Been going strong since Harry was sixteen and Louis was eighteen and even two weeks apart feels like an eternity. 

“Fuck. Right. Yes. Okay.” He clumsily reaches for the hem of his shirt, Harry only assisting a little to get it up over his head. Their chests are both bare as Louis bends down and sucks a kiss into the dip between Harry’s ear and jawbone. 

“Love you,” the boy breathes out in between moans. “So much.” 

“Love you more,” Louis whispers into his ear, and a shiver runs through Harry’s whole body. 

Their hands both kind of drift towards each other’s waistbands; it’s slow and careful and sure, and they know each other so well it just sort of progresses naturally. They don’t really need to think about it when they get their clothes off, piece by piece, or when Louis sucks lovebites into Harry’s inner thighs while the latter breathes out little moans of contentment, or when he opens Harry up on three of his fingers as they share countless kisses that mean nothing and everything. 

It’s not long before Harry is sat on Louis’ lap, rocking back and forth almost painfully slow as they clutch each other’s skin, hair, backs and shoulders and hands. Everything. They kiss enough to make up for all the lost time between them, and Louis’ deep enough so that Harry will be able to feel him long after he’s gone. 

“Fuck, Lou…” Harry rotates his hips, both of them gasping desperately for more of each other. “You’re. So good. Jesus, you’re so good.” 

“Mm. You’re amazing, babe. Missed you.” Harry hits an angle that makes him keen, high pitched. His head drops forward, hair flopping into his face. Louis misses when it was long. If it was, he would take it in his fingers and twirl it.

“You look gorgeous,” he murmurs, letting his hands drift down from Harry’s hips to his thighs, squeezing tightly. “Love you so much.” 

Harry can’t seem to form words. He gasps as Louis shifts his weight to sit up, hitting somewhere deeper, and wraps an arm around his neck. “What d’you need, sweetheart? Tell me. Come on.”

“More,” Harry says weakly. “Please.” 

Louis kisses the pulsepoint in his neck before promptly flipping them over so Harry’s on his back, sheets damp with sweat and skin shiny. He’s at the perfect angle. Can do whatever he wants, really, with a pliant Harry Styles loose and relaxed underneath him. The boy is so out of it at this point, simple pleasure putting him in that headspace he always ends up in when they go at it for hours. 

It’s been not an hour yet. 

“Louis,” Harry whines softly, fumbling for his hands. “Please.” 

“I’ve got you darling.” It’s slow, not enough, but it’s so good Louis never wants to stop. 

Of course, it’s mere minutes before Harry is trembling and spilling in between them with a whimper, sighing heavily and wrapping his arms around Louis’ neck. 

“Come on, Lou,” Harry whispers in his ear, wrapping a hand in his hair and  _ tugging.  _ “Let go.” 

It’s so calm when he comes, not like all the rough and heavy sex they usually have, desperate to make up for all they’ve missed. It’s quiet and perfect, Harry talking him through it in little whispers of “I love you sweetheart, love you so much.” When Louis says his name in a breathy moan, and when he gets back to his senses, he’s on his side, head resting on Harry’s chest listening to the  _ thump-thump  _ of his heartbeat. 

“One day,” Louis whispers, kissing the sparrow tattoo beside his head, “I’m going to tell the whole world we’re in love. And nobody’s going to be able to stop me.” 

It hurts because it might be a long time. 

“I’m gonna marry you properly,” he continues. “We’ll invite everyone. There’ll be champagne and flowers and a white cake, and everything you deserve, and we’re gonna ride away in a carriage.” 

“Oh, Lou,” Harry whispers, pulling him closer. 

“I’m gonna write every beautiful song about you,” he says, realizing he’s crying, a few hot tears dripping from the tip of his nose to the eye of the sparrow. “Every love song, every heartbreak, everything. All for you.” 

“Fuck them,” Harry croaks. “Yeah, you don’t need that fucking team. You’re so much better than them. We can do it. We can do it, just me and you.” 

He wants to. He wants to so fucking bad. 

“I love you,” he says instead. 

It’s enough, for now. 

 

~ 

 

That night and the next day, he makes Harry wear the hoodie. By the time he leaves, it smells like him again. 

 

~

 

A lot of the time, he wonders why he didn’t take the opportunity to come out when he was eighteen. 

He knows he was scared, and he took every piece of information about the music industry he was given, which meant everyone gave him the  _ wrong  _ information. ‘The girls won’t like you anymore, Louis’ and ‘you won’t be famous anymore, Louis’. He could’ve said no, but he hadn’t; and now they were stuck here. 

They fight sometimes. Some fights are worse than others. One time they’d actually agreed to break up before realizing, the day after, they wouldn’t be able to live without each other. He hates it when they fight, and he hates it when people say it’s part of being in a normal relationship when they don’t  _ have  _ a normal relationship. They’re relationship should be considered everything  _ but  _ normal. 

He’s happy to say, however, that they’ve always moved on and become better people after these fights. Even when they end in tears, and broken glass, and throats raw from yelling. 

Harry’s spent the last few days planning and shooting the new music video, and Louis is so proud of him. He knows it’s going to be iconic and amazing. But one night, Harry calls him, that drunken lilt in his voice, and Louis is a few hundred miles away, and it physically hurts. 

“Are you safe, babe?” he asks, sitting upright in bed. 

“Yeah,” he hears from the other end, and it’s silent for a moment. 

“Lou, let’s have kids.” 

_ Fuck.  _

“H,” he croaks, “you should go to sleep, sweetheart.” 

“I’m being serious.” The end of his sentence is cut off by a yawn. “We should adopt. We could do it. It’d be so great. I love kids.” 

“We can’t.” He closes his eyes and tries to push away the image of Harry’s face dropping. “We will, one day, but we can’t think of that right now.” 

“I want to have kids, Lou,” he whimpers. “I don’t wanna do this anymore.” 

He can’t do this tonight. He’s had a shitty, uncreative day in the studio and he can’t think about this, not when he has so much to do and so much to write. 

“You should go to bed, H.” 

Harry sniffs thickly. “Why are you mad? You’re always mad. You’re mad about...everything.” 

“H,” he says firmly, fisting a hand in his hair and resisting the urge to pull it out. “Go to bed. We’ll talk tomorrow when you’re not drunk off your ass.” He says the last line in a mumble, but Harry hears it anyway. 

“What, so now I’m not allowed to get drunk too?” 

“What do you mean ‘too’?”

Harry sighs through the speaker. “Never mind. Never fucking mind, Lou.” 

“No, H, what the hell? You think I don’t wanna have kids with you? You think I’m the one stopping you?”

“I--”

“No, don’t. Don’t.”

“You’re so--”

“Go to sleep, Harry. It’s late.” 

“Fine,” Harry snaps. “I’m sorry I’m such a bother. I’ll leave you be.” 

The phone goes silent. He’s hung up. 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he curses, flinging his phone into the pillow behind him and burying his face in his hands. Harry’s gonna call him tomorrow and apologize, and he’s gonna apologize too, and they’ll forget this ever happened. But it fucking  _ sucks _ . 

After sending an email about his upcoming performance, and wallowing in his troubles with a bottle of beer clasped loosely in his fingers, he switches the light off and rolls onto his side. He hates being by himself, but he’s used to it now. 

He fumbles on the floor for the hoodie, tugs in towards him and buries his face in the cotton. Still smells like Harry. With his arms wrapped around it, he can pretend he’s not alone. 

 

~

 

The apology happens exactly the way it always does; the soft ring of his phone pulling him out of whatever vague slumber he’s been in since 5am. 

Harry’s voice sounds stuffy and dry, but he sounds like Harry, and Louis feels ten times better. 

“You know I didn’t mean it,” he says. “I love you, I wanna have kids with you, I just...you know. Sometimes it hurts too much to think about shit like that when you know you have to wait.” 

“I know,” Harry answers. “I mean...I think too much, yeah? Like, my thoughts are just racing all the time. Don’t be mad. I’m sorry. I love you.” 

“I’m not mad,” he says. He isn’t. He wraps his fingers around the sleeve of the hoodie.

 

~

 

They see each other twice more in between then and Louis’ Manchester show. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough. And the time after the show when they see each other is amazing; Harry’s just so happy for him, just purely and wholeheartedly happy, and he sort of feeds off that energy. 

The album is going well. They’re talking about the tour. Everything is really good right now, other than the pap walks here and there. It’s his day off and he’s watching a video Harry sent him of him blowing a kiss at the camera and saying “ _ I love you Lou _ ” on repeat, and he’s wearing the hoodie (the smell has begun to fade, the next time they see each other he’ll have to give it back), and he’s wiping away a couple tears he pretends aren’t there, and he answers the phone when the caller ID says ‘Babe’ followed by a string of heart emojis. 

They spend about three hours talking about things that don’t really matter; they laugh a lot more than they cry, and he feels like his heart is literally bursting with love, and then Harry goes a little quiet. 

“What if we…” He pauses, leaving Louis on edge. “What if we did it?” 

He doesn’t have to go into specifics for Louis to know what he’s talking about. 

“H…” he begins reluctantly, but something in his mind clicks, and he doesn’t know why he’s hesitating. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything except he loves Harry. 

“I’m ready,” Harry says into the receiver. “I don’t know if you are, but I am.” 

He breathes for a moment. Thinks about what it would be like to say ‘I’m ready.’

“I think…” He shakes his head minutely. “I mean. If you are, I am.” 

It’s that easy. 

 

~

 

It’s not that easy. 

They mention it once, twice, three times, four times. Nothing happens. Nothing changes. Louis’ not sure he expects it to, after everything. Maybe they’re destined to live by this secret lovers and star-crossed shadows of people they should’ve grown into. People they should’ve become. 

They’ve spent a lot of time fantasizing, and Louis kind of hates that they’ve gotten their hopes up so much that things are going to change. He doubts they are. As soon as Harry finishes the small shows tour, he’s going to announce his own, and then soon enough he’s going to be travelling too, and they won’t have much time to spend together. Maybe a few weeks in between the tour announcement and the first show. It’ll be okay. He doesn’t always believe it, but he has to keep telling himself that or else he’ll go insane. 

He dares to mention it again, that they can still break the contract. And then the management loses him, and Harry, and a hell of a lot of fans. Or they can let the contract expire and then come out, which would take another while. Or they can talk it over and come to an agreement. 

So. He says it, the thing that everyone’s been thinking about since he stepped into the room. And they say okay. And he tells them to repeat themselves, so he knows he’s not dreaming. 

They say yes. 

It’s so fucking good, and he goes home and phones Harry, and they don’t talk. They just sob together; Louis with his face buried into the embroidery of the hoodie, and Harry in the backseat of Mitch’s car.

It’s perfect. 

 

~

 

It happens when Louis performs at the Manchester Apollo in the fall of 2018. 

They’ve stopped the baby drama. They stopped it in the spring. It’s the second show of the UK leg and it’s going so well. He feels so fucking blessed. And he’s also terrified. 

The lights are bright when he steps out onstage. His hands are shaking. His legs feel like jelly. This is it. This is the end. And it’s also the beginning. This is where it started; from The Script, to The X Factor, to One Direction, to his first album. This is  _ it.  _

The fans are loud tonight. He knows it’s going to be a lot, and people are probably going to cry, and people are probably going to be upset and happy and hate him and hate Harry, but he knows a lot of people are going to be really fucking proud. 

He sits down at the piano for the last song of the encore. He’s done this every night, for a different song. He’s saved this one. It’s all been worth it. 

They recognize the first chords. 

“ _ If I could fly, I’d be coming right back home to you… _ ”

He reaches the climax. His voice wavers. He reaches the bridge, and the lights go green, and he smiles to himself because he knows, and they know, and it makes so much sense that the fans are a part of this because they’re family, aren’t they? 

“ _ I can feel your heart inside of mine…”  _

A voice, from offstage. It’s so comforting, to know he’s not alone. 

“ _ I feel it, I feel it…” _

There are a few shrieks. Other than that, the crowd is deadly silent. 

“ _ I’ve been going out of my mind… _ ”

“ _ I feel it, I feel it… _ ”

The lights get brighter. 

“ _ Know that I’m just wasting time, and I… _ ”

“ _ Hope that you don’t run from me. _ ”

The silhouette of his everything appears against the lights and _ everything, _ right here, right now, slots into place. 

They finish the song. The screams are so loud. He kind of wants to cry when Harry takes his hand, right then, right there, squeezes it tight. They bow together. There are tears on Harry’s face. 

“Thank you,” he says into the microphone, and the screams get louder. “This is us.” 

It’s done.

 

~

 

It’s a year and a half before they agree it’s time for a reunion tour. 

Things have been relatively stable for a while. He and Harry have been doing so well. Louis proposed under the spotlight during the last show of Harry’s 2018 tour, for real this time, and they’re married, and they want to have kids of their own but not yet. There’s business that needs to be taken care of first. It’s what the fans have been waiting for for so long and Louis has, frankly, stopped caring what other people think, so they phone up Niall and Liam together and decide that 2019 seems like the right time to accounce for a tour in 2020. They release a single together and the world loses their shit, and it feels really good; not just to be back, to be doing it again, but to be  _ free _ .

The turnout is amazing, of course. There are so many rainbows, and sometimes Harry kisses the top of his head during his solos, and sometimes he kisses Harry on the cheek as they walk past each other, and when they perform  _ If I Could Fly _ the audience goes almost silent and it’s just the four of them. Just how it should be. 

They release one more album. Tour once more. Call it the end, but for now. 

They never know what the future might hold. 

 

~

 

Harry and Louis have children. Four of them, all adopted. Two boys and two girls. They’re all gorgeous, and they grow up listening to all the best music their parents were raised on, and the only headlines they see are cheeky pics of the two of them kissing in public while one of them carries the youngest in their arms and the other clasps the hand of their oldest. 

There are always the same stories passed around as they grow old together, the ones they choose to tell their kids are only a fine selection of all they’ve been through. Eventually, they talk about the people who didn’t believe they could be strong together. They talk about the people who didn’t believe in them. The people who thought they were shameful. 

Louis always laughs and says the same thing when the story ends. 

“It’s why we wrote all those hundreds of songs. To prove them wrong.” 

It’s partly true. They did that. But they’re enough on their own. 

 

~

 

He never gets rid of the hoodie. It stays with the family long after they’re gone. 

It never stopped smelling like Harry. 

It never had to. 

  
  


**the end**

 

**Author's Note:**

> ok so!!! this was a thing i wrote. idek why, i was bored lmao! it's genuinely awful and I'm sorry rip come yell at me on [tumblr](http://dystopianharry.tumblr.com)!! also thanks so much to [tori](http://hohohoharryloumas.tumblr.com) for betaing last minute you are my HERO!!!! also thanks to [molly](http://becomeawendybird.tumblr.com) for making the moodboard y'all are amazing :D
> 
> as always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated <3
> 
> love, bella xx


End file.
